


At Last

by drarryangels



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Grief, M/M, Mourning, Post-Alec Lightwood Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 00:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15279450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarryangels/pseuds/drarryangels
Summary: Magnus has many pieces of Alec left, but none of his words. At least, that's what he thinks.





	At Last

Magnus,  
I don’t expect for you to read this until years after I’m dead. I told Catarina not to give it to you until she absolutely had to. I fear this letter will only make you feel worse, but I couldn’t help but write it.  
You told me once that there wasn’t going to be a next time. You know exactly what I’m talking about, I’m sure. For me, that was true. Once I loved you, there never was going to be a next time. Shadowhunters are known for loving one person forever, and immortals are known for loving many people, none of them forever. Seems like a perfect conundrum, you and me. I, who only loved one. And you, who had loved so many.  
You got angry with me for talking to Camille all those years ago. The truth is, though, (I would have never told you this at the time) that I wanted to talk to Camille because she was the only one who had known you in a different era. You wouldn’t share your history with me, but I wanted to know you. The ugly parts right along with the beautiful parts. And at the time, the only way I saw to get this information was to talk with Camille. Of course I know now that Camille would have never talked to me just for that. She probably would have eventually convinced me to make you mortal. It makes me sick to think about it now, and I’m sure that’s exactly what was going through your mind at the time. I’m sorry for that, but that’s not why I’m writing about it.  
Like I said, you told me that there wasn’t going to be a next time. And of course, then, and years and years after you said that, I hoped it would be true. I wanted to be your one great love. Your last, the one you remembered forever. That’s how it is, being human. You were my one great love. My first, my last, my beautiful, and my only. I would never love anyone like I would love you, and I wanted you to feel that way about me. It hurt me to think of you with hundreds of people other than me. Kissing them like you kissed me. Holding their hand with the same hand you held mine with. Laying next to someone who wasn’t me. Waking them up in the morning with a kiss and a coffee. Doing ordinary, mundane things with them. That hurt me, and so I hoped you would never love anyone else again.  
But as I grew older, and you stayed the same, I learned some things. We had Rafael and Max, we got married, we traveled the world, and lived in our own home together. You said that you had never lived a full life with someone. That there had never been one person that you had stayed with until they died. You said you’d never had kids with anyone else, you’d never been married to anyone else. That made me so sad when you said that. By that time, I wasn’t a child anymore. Seeing you unhappy or unfulfilled stabbed at me, even when I knew that any of those things could have been with someone other than me. I wasn’t jealous of people I didn’t know anymore. That’s when I fully realized that for sure, I think. That I would rather you be with anyone, be anywhere, live in any way, than be with me, as long as you were happy. I think I was around 35 or so at that time. I thought that was so old.  
You told me as much as you could remember about your past. Things you said you had never told anyone else. I wasn’t sure if I thought you were telling the truth, but it was you, and you wouldn’t lie to me, so I believed you.  
At this point, I want to tell you that even after I die, I want you to keep looking for love. No matter how old you are, no matter how long I’ve been dead, keep opening yourself up to new people. I’m not sure why I’m writing this. You’ve probably already moved on. Probably moved on months after I died. That’s okay. If that’s true, then you’ll never read this letter. That’s okay, too. That is, unless Catarina goes back on her word. But I don’t think she will. I do, however, think she’ll read this letter herself. (Hello Cat!)  
So, if you aren’t reading this letter, me saying these things won’t matter, and if you are, then they will. So I’ll just go ahead and write the things I had planned to, no matter how idiotic.  
Things you need to do after I die:  
Keep loving, Magnus. It might be hard, but you can’t give up on the human race. (or whatever race)  
Travel all over the place! Despite the fact that we once went to every single country in the world just to say that we could… I bet there will be new places and countries in the future. So go! Just so you can say you’ve been everywhere in the world!  
Don’t abandon Max. This is obviously a given (cough), but Max is our son. So pay attention to him! He always did need more attention than Rafael. Also! Rafael?!? Hopefully that’s all that needs to be said. Don’t let Max wallow when Rafe is dead. Because someday he will be. And please, PLEASE, continue to paint your nails with Max weekly. He once told me that that was his favorite thing in the whole world to do. I hope time won’t change that. And don’t let him cuss, or dress inappropriately, or be rude to people, or let time change him too much, or let him forget our family, or let him eat whatever he wants, or let him call you Magnus. Remember! I will always be Daddy, and you will always be Papa. No exceptions! I know you like to bend the rules, Mags, but he must be guided in life! Okay, my dad rant is over.  
Keep good relations with the Shadowhunters. I need you to stalk our descendants for me!  
Stay alive. Do not fall into depression, do not pick up bad habits (cutting, drugs, alcohol, wearing outfits that do not match, etc.) No suicide, okay? I love you. You’re going to move on, but I’ll always wait, okay? Even in whatever lifetime there may or may not be, I will be there, loving you. So keep living!  
Be glamorous all the time. I’m talking wit, glamor, glitter, fabulous outfits, attitude, eccentricity. Be your fabulous self all the time! All black is not acceptable at any point in time. (Unless you’re trying to look really professional.)  
Go shopping. You know you love it. And get one of those chocolate muffins at that bakery every time you go to the local market. Eat it when I can’t.  
Okay, those are just the basics. You know the drill. We’ve discussed me dying before. I just want you to remember that I love you no matter what, and I won’t ever hate you, no matter what you do. Unless you don’t follow the things I just listed above. Kidding, I still won’t hate you.  
I want you to be happy, so I need you to get over me. I know that unlike you said, there will be a next time. I want to let you know that I’m okay with that. I want you to know that I’m encouraging that. Remember me, but go on and keep living. I’m not all that important. Just one of your memories by the time you read this.  
You’re my best friend, and I love you more than anything. 

Alexander Alec Gideon Lightwood-Bane

 

Magnus blinked a bit, and lifted his fingers to his face. Hot liquid streamed down his cheeks, but no makeup was smeared in it. A strange numbness had stolen over him, and he slowly stood up and walked out of the same Brooklyn room that he had once shared with Alec.  
He walked into the bathroom that had become so gloomy. All cosmetics and the huge containers of glitter had been put away a long time ago, and now the bathroom was empty, blank, and lifeless. The rest of the apartment was no different. The only part of the apartment that had remained the same since Alec, was their bedroom. Alec’s sweaters were hung up in the closet, and his jeans folded in the drawers. His shoes lined the wall as they always had, and his gear was slung over the chair in the corner, exactly where he had always left it. His bow and quiver were propped up next to the desk in the corner, where Clave reports from hundreds of years ago laid untouched. Photos of Alec and Magnus smiled out of where they were stuck in the frame of the gilded mirror. A cardboard box was shoved under the bed, just the corner of it sticking out from under the unmade duvet covers.  
In that box was everything of Magnus. Piles of flamboyant clothes, endless containers of glitter, packages of makeup, shiny shoes, and dusty tubes of nail polish. All neatly stacked and organized, and put away for forever.  
Magnus stared at his reflection in the mirror. He wore one of Alec’s worn out sweaters and a pair of jeans that had once been tight fitting but now hung too loose on his bony frame. Magnus’s hair was tangled and loose, and dark circles and red wrung under his tired gold-green cat eyes. His lips were chapped, and not even a hint of happiness or even a slight smile was on his face. Magnus was surprised to see tears soaking his face, instead of the visible pain of 472 years without Alexander Lightwood.  
Magnus sighed in exhaustion and detached disbelief in Alexander, and how somehow he thought that he meant barely anything to Magnus. As if Magnus could get over Alexander. As if. When all of Magnus’s lovers before Alexander left, he always felt grief, but there was always some sort of longing to keep looking. To keep loving. With Alexander, there was nothing but pain.  
Magnus gave himself one more look in the mirror before he crumpled to the ground. Wretched pain tore through him, his muscles slackening, his stomach heaving up acid. He hadn’t eaten much this past week. Magnus ran his fingers through his knotted hair and across his face, trying to wipe away some of the tears. The wetness was quickly replaced with more salty tears. Each round of ratcheting sobs worse than the last.  
Magnus clutched the wrinkled and yellowing paper between his fingers, holding it to his chest as tightly as he could. Catarina had given it to him yesterday. She had decided that if Magnus hadn’t recovered after all this time, then maybe she should finally give him Alec’s letter. Magnus had been mildly pissed off that she hadn’t given it to him sooner, but Catarina had only sighed, given him a hug, and left. Magnus hadn’t opened it until today. Alexander’s birthday. Magnus had not forgotten Alec’s death day, nor would he ever, but he always grieved for Alec the hardest during his birthday. To Magnus, it was just another reminder that one more year had gone by that Alec hadn't been there, that Alec hadn’t been getting any older. That they should have been celebrating something together.  
He had gone to a memorial for Alec earlier in the morning (1:00 AM exactly), but he had been kicked out because he had been “crying and whimpering too loudly for the nearby neighborhoods to sleep” as the sheriff said. Magnus had left without complaint and lied awake and alone in bed again until the sun had risen.  
Alec’s birthday passed. Magnus spent most of it on the bathroom floor. Max came by later in the day and simply sat down next to Magnus on the floor and stroked through his black hair.  
“Max?” Magnus croaked out.  
“Yes, Papa?” Max whispered.  
“Catarina showed you Alexander’s letter, didn’t she?”  
“Yes,” Max said quietly. “I know everything it says.”  
“That’s why you’ve been such a good son all these years,” Magnus tried to laugh and failed. “You knew Alexander was worried about you being brought up right after he died.”  
“No, Papa. He knew that you and him had raised me perfectly when he was alive, and he knew you would be there for me in the most perfect way after he was gone.”  
“But I haven’t been with you at all really,” Magnus said sadly.  
“That’s not true,” Max protested. “You’ve been present in my life. Even though I can tell you’re sad all the time, you still visit, and spend time with me. And besides, I have someone beside me who knows my pain better than I do.”  
“I wish he was here,” Magnus said, a strangled, breaking noise erupting from his mouth.  
“So do I,” Max whispered. There was a moment of silence before Max spoke again. “Do you think you'll ever get over him, Papa?”  
“Not ever, Max, darling,” Magnus choked, sitting up slowly. “Is there anyone other than Rafe who you would ever think of as your brother?”  
“No,” Max said without a moment's hesitation.  
“That's how it is for me. I loved so many people during my lifetime, and I never expected my life to change. I expected time to go on as it always had. Then I met Alexander. There was never anyone else for me. Not after I met him.”  
“I brought over a cake….” Max said hesitantly.  
“A cake?” Magnus said, getting to his feet and wrapping Alec's sweater tighter around him.  
“For Daddy’s birthday.”  
“But why a cake?” Magnus asked.  
“Because Daddy always said Rafe and I would get fat if we ate too much cake. Rafe believed him I think, and I would eat too much anyways and get sick later. Now Daddy's not here, so I figure we can eat as much cake as we want,” Max smiled a bit, trying to cheer Magnus up. But it seemed to be the wrong thing to say.  
Magnus didn't say anything but he flinched violently when Max said Daddy, and physically moved as if he'd been pushed when Max said that Alec was not there.  
“I'm sorry, Papa,” Max said quietly.  
“It's alright Max.”  
“No it's not,” Max said, trying to lift Magnus’s chin with his hand.  
“Yes it is,” Magnus said too loudly, pulling away and striding out of the bathroom. Max followed immediately, slamming the bathroom door shut behind him.  
A slight intake of breath was heard from the kitchen and Max smiled a bit to himself. He walked into the kitchen and it was like he had stepped into a kitchen from several hundred years ago.  
Magnus whirled around to face Max and looked at him in awe.  
“What did you do?” Manus said accusingly.  
“I'm a warlock,” Max said, holding his arms out as if to welcome praise. Magnus gave him none.  
Magnus turned in a slow circle, taking in the apartment. Before Alec had died, Magnus had always changed the apartment decoration. Nearly every single day. He had always gravitated towards vintage Alicante styles mixed with New Yorkan vibes during the time period, simply because he knew Alec felt the most comfortable in those surroundings. So every year, on Alec's birthday, Magnus would change it to look just like that. After Alec had died, though, Magnus hadn't even thought about the decorating of the apartment, and it defaulted to empty blankness.  
But now, Max had turned it into exactly Alec's favorite state of the apartment.  
“You got every detail right,” Magnus breathed.  
“Yes….” Max said slightly shyly. “Well I do have photographic memory, but I paid special attention to things that had anything to do with Daddy or Rafe. I knew they wouldn't live forever.”  
“Oh, Max…”  
“I'm so sorry. I was probably being stupid. I can get rid of it all right now if you'd like-”  
“No!” Magnus said loudly, then dropped his voice. “I think I'll keep it like this for awhile.”  
Max nodded and then shot a sidelong look to Magnus.  
“That's not the only part of the surprise,” Max said.  
“Oh, dear,” Magnus said. And for a moment, just a split second, a tiny bit of a Magnus from a past time shined through this bleak and sad person that stood now. But it was only a second, and then sadness took over again, and Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, was gone again.  
“Come sit,” Max said, leading Magnus gently over to a chair and setting a cake and present in front of him.  
“What is this?” Magnus asked in surprise. “It's not my birthday.”  
“I know,” Max said, pulling out a chair for himself and sitting down. “Just open it.”  
Magnus carefully tore off the silver wrapping paper and set the gift down in front of him. Magnus’s long fingers reached out and gently unfolded the bundle of cloth on the table and held up a sweater. A sweater that was the precise dark, indigo blue of Alec's eyes, and was clearly a couple sizes too big so that it would hang stylishly loose on Magnus, but would have probably fit Alec perfectly. On it, in a looping silver script, were the words: i am not your bitch, written in Alec's handwriting.  
Magnus slowly lifted a hand over his mouth and a choking sound erupted.  
“How did you do this?” Magnus sobbed, tears starting to trickle down his cheeks.  
“Magic,” Max grinned and waggled his fingers at Magnus. Magnus let a small smile cross his face and then got up and hugged Max tightly.  
Magnus ran back to his bedroom and gently slid Alec's sweater over his head and pushed it carefully on a hanger. He grabbed the blue sweater and pulled it over his head quickly and smiled at his reflection in the gilded mirror. For the first time in nearly 500 years, Magnus genuinely smiled. And although his cheeks were stiff, and it made his bottom lip crack and bleed a bit, Magnus felt content.  
Magnus pulled out a pair of battered combat shoes from the box under his bed and stuffed his feet into them. He grabbed a brush that he hadn't seen in years and dragged it through his hair (magic helped.) Magnus didn't bother with glitter nor makeup, but it was enough. He wasn't ready for that yet, but maybe he would be someday. He ran back out of his bedroom where Max was starting to dejectedly leave and skidded to a stop across the living room floor.  
“Max,” Magnus breathed, slightly out of breath. Max whirled around and simply stared at Magnus in shock.  
“Papa?”  
“Yes,” Magnus nodded vigorously. “It's me.”  
“It's you,” Max reaffirmed. Magnus waved his hand impatiently in a way he would have done around Alec. “How are you feeling…. without…. at your side?”  
“I'll never be okay without Alexander at my side,” Magnus sighed, his shoulders slumping over. “And I'll never get over him. I already know that. But it would kill him to see the two of us like this. Sobbing over him and Rafe all the time, neither of us spending enough time with each other, neither of us actually doing well. Just surviving, not living. It would hurt him. If I can't love anyone else, than at least I can try and keep living my life. Be sad but not swallowed. I'll live. I owe it to him. I owe it to Rafe and to you.”  
Max nodded and hugged Magnus slowly.  
“Well…. we have cake?” Max said cautiously.  
“I actually had something else in mind,” Magnus said, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he was trying his hardest to smile. “How long has it been since you painted your nails?”  
“Nearly three months,” Max said with a dramatic hand gesture.  
Magnus pretended to gasp, “Ufh! How dare? Let’s go! We must fix this!”  
Max snorted. “And how long has it been since you painted your nails?”  
“Nearly 500 years!” Magnus shouted as he flew out the door. Max rolled his eyes, and ran out the door after Magnus. There was complete silence in the apartment for a moment before the door slammed open again.  
Max flew the door, his normally blue face tinged with purple, and ran to the kitchen table. He shuffled around for a moment and then turned around with half of the cake on a plate.  
“Sorry, Daddy,” Max whispered to the silent apartment. “I'm okay with being fat.”  
“Max!” a voice called in the distance.  
“Coming, Papa!” Max called.  
The apartment door slammed shut again, and a moment later a shout was heard.  
“Max Lightwood-Bane! You are going to get fat!”  
Ringing laughter faded away, and the old Brooklyn apartment was silent again.  
And maybe somewhere, if you believe in that sort of thing, Alec Lightwood-Bane smiled a little and sighed. At last.


End file.
